Where True Distortion Lies
by DarcyDoll
Summary: It didn't matter how often she called him an angel; no wings would grow out of him. He could never be considered an angel. At least not one of the pure, innocent ones she heard about. He was an angel of death, of destruction. Modern AU. Eventually M.
1. Act I Aldridge

**ACT I - Aldridge**

It was raining. The sky emptied itself in icy sheets over the city, washing away the grime from the roofs and running in torrents down the busy streets. A young girl no older than nineteen struggled to hold onto her umbrella as the wind assailed her with its harsh, chilling gusts. Her eyes of jade glared at the angry sky, dark with the mounting storm. She _hated _the rain.

Realizing she was getting more and more lost by the minute, Christine decided to follow other's examples and temporarily seek shelter at a nearby bus stop, uttering a few modest apologies as she squeezed her way between a few of the stranded travelers waiting in vain for the rain to let up. She fumbled in her pocket and removed a crumpled piece of notebook paper with directions hastily scribbled on it. She was on the right track, that much was for certain. The directions were vague, but she passed enough of the listed landmarks to know that she was close.

"Excuse me..." she hesitantly asked the man to her left. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for Aldridge Institute and was wondering if you knew-"

"How should I know?" He snapped, not even bothering to look at her.

Christine flushed in indignation. Was this how all people in the city treated each other? She opened her mouth in outrage to give him a good telling-off but was stopped short by a gentle tapping on the shoulder. It was an old lady, a shopping bag cradled in her arms.

"Excuse me, dear, did you say you were looking for Aldridge?"

"Oh... yes, ma'am. I am."

"If you just follow this street for about another block, take a right, and its not far from there. There's a big sign; you can't miss it."

"Thank you very much." Christine said with relief, fumbling with her umbrella. She took a deep breath before braving the storm once more.

"Be careful, dear!" she heard the old lady say to her retreating figure.

It didn't take long before she beheld the tall, menacing iron gates of Aldridge Institute of Performing Arts and the stately-looking old buildings beyond the courtyard. It was obviously an elite school, and quite expensive to attend. Her father was by no means a wealthy man, but he had put aside a substantial amount for her to attend school here. Once she had navigated the courtyard, it was easy enough to find the right student apartment complex. Before she had a chance to celebrate, however, a powerful gust of wind took her off-guard, ripping the umbrella out of her hands and carrying it away.

Cursing under her breath, Christine dropped her head so that her dark hair fell forward, shielding her face from the rain. She stared at her soaked shoes in misery as she plowed forward one step at a time.

A pair of shiny rain boots suddenly entered her field of vision, and she froze in alarm the same time the icy drops on her neck stopped. A thin arm wrapped around her shoulder, and she looked up. Dripping ropes of coffee-colored tendrils dangled in her face, and she glared at them in annoyance.

"Aww, look. It's an abandoned cat." It was the lovely Meg Giry, looking at Christine with amusement glittering in her eyes as she held an umbrella above them both. "Bedraggled... Sad... Should I take it home?" Her soft fingers brushed the irritating hair from Christine's face. "I was wondering where you were, and saw you coming from the window. Are you alright?"

Christine smiled at the fair, honey-blonde girl beside her. They'd been friend's for many years, and both had taken a year off from school after graduation (much to their parent's chagrin) to travel Europe together, under the pretense of "becoming acquainted with the culture and scenery of the places which had given birth to the very music they study", or something to that effect.

"Just having a bad day, I'm sorry I'm late." she replied, embracing the concerned girl briefly before they continued their trek to there new home. "I kept getting lost, then it started storming, and everytime I stopped for directions people were very unpleasant-"

"The 'unpleasant people' part of your day isn't over yet." Meg warned, pausing at the door of the old building. "You haven't met the residence warden yet. You have to get your key from him. He wouldn't give me yours, the asshole."

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"I'm making tea; you interested?" Meg inquired as she entered the small kitchen.

"No, thank you." Christine replied, setting her soaked bag down as she observed what was to be her new home.

The modest, two bedroom apartment was cluttered with stacks and stacks of boxes, some of which had already been opened, likely by Meg. Most of the students attending Aldridge stayed in the dorms, and only the ones willing to pay the extra cost scored a place in "the villa", as the students called it. The only reason Christine found herself in such a position was because she was best friends with Meg, the daughter of Madam Giry, who was one of the associate deans. Meg had insisted on Christine living with her, and she wasn't about to turn down such a generous offer.

As she gazed around in despair at the work that lay ahead of her, Christine glimpsed a sliver of polished hard rock maple wood from behind a stack of boxes. Her heart gave a little flutter as she navigated her way through the mess until she found herself before her beloved Steinway piano.

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been worried about it. Moving a piano can be tricky, and while the school employed professionals for such a task, she couldn't help but feel a bit of anxiety for it. It was a family heirloom, older even than her grandfather, and was very important to her. She slid her fingers over the sleek finish of the casing and was relieved to see that it was completely undamaged.

Christine could certainly be considered accomplished for her age when it came to music and the performance arts, thanks in large part to her parents. They had an amusing little war with eachother concerning her lessons since her toddler years, both wanting her to follow in their own footsteps.

Her mother was a star on Broadway, and before her sudden death by car accident when Christine was barely 10, ensured that her daughter was well versed in dance and acting, and personally saw to her singing lessons. Her father, on the other hand, was passionate for classical music. He was a well-known conductor and master at violin. He taught her everything he knew about violin, and she was found to be extremely good at it.

Despite all of the encouragement and training she recieved from her parents, she just couldn't seem to make herself feel passionately about music the way they did. With every praise and glow of pride from her parents she found it increasingly difficult to tell them the truth. For years she lived this lie. That is, until the concert.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen a concert. In fact, having a father as a conductor, she'd been to many. But it was the first time she'd seen a piano concerto. She had one of the best seats in the house; alone, for her mother was gone for a few years at this point. She clapped along with everyone else when her father, in the dignified stroll of a conductor, made his way to the podium and bowed lowly. A hushed silence followed in anticipation for the concerto to begin. Christine's eyes had already gone out of focus at this point, expecting it to be another long night of boring and predictable crescendos and candenzas.

Then came the music.

It started with the piano. Soft, low, bell-like tollings set the mood for the piece, building tension, drawing her interest just in time as it exploded into something more urgent. She watched in fascination as the pianist whose name she could not recall swayed slightly with the melody of the accompanying orchestra, nimble fingers dancing expertly across the polished ivory keys. She didn't have to be a piano player to know that it was a difficult song, riddled with arpeggios and half steps. The composition itself was unpredictable, unstable even, but in the most fascinating of ways. The instruments themselves seemed to be battling it out for dominance of the melody, though the piano always seemed to win out. As the music built and built into an intense climax, Christine remembered fumbling for her program guide and opening it to read a single name: Rachmaninov.

From that moment on she was in love with the piano. She still took her violin and voice lessons and excelled, mostly for her parent's sake, but during she was anxious to get back to the smooth white keys of her father's Steinway. She knew she had a long way to go to catch up, for many accomplished piano players started as early as age three, but that didn't deter her in the least. She was a natural at it, and her father supported her wholeheartedly. He died less than a year before, and she missed him more than anything in the world...

"-fore it gets too late..."

Christine blinked. "I'm sorry Meg, I was zoning out. What was that?"

"I said you better head downstairs to Mr. Brewer's before it gets too late. You'll need a key of your own."

Nodding in agreement, Christine tied her still sopping wet hair back with a hair tie and wiped the running makeup from her face with the back of her sleeve in an attempt to make herself half-presentable.

"Good luck~" Meg called ominously to her retreating back as she entered the dimly lit hallway.

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Not long after knocking hesitantly on the residence warden's door, it was quite suddenly yanked open and she found herself face-to-face with the disarmingly angry face of a man who looked to be in his early thirties. His severe eyes seemed to be set in a permanent glare behind his glasses. She figured if he would only try to smile, he might appear somewhat attractive.

"Yes?" He snapped. So much for attractive. Her opinion of him took a downward spiral. "What do you want?"

"Mr. Brewer?" she managed nervously. He eyed her warily.

"What do you want, little girl?" he repeated, voice positively dripping with venom.

She blinked, taken aback, but managed to bite her tongue on the lashing she wanted to give him. _Little girl?_ "I'm just here for my key-"

"Daae?"

"Yes, sir."

He opened the door wider before turning away and re-entering his apartment. She took this as an invitation to follow, and it seemed to be the right thing to do, for he pointed at his leather couch with the command "Sit." She complied.

She heard fumbling of drawers and the rustling of paper from the next room. Before she even had time to wonder what he could be doing, he was striding back into the room and tossing a stapled packet of papers before her on the coffee table. She lifted it hesitantly and read "Rules and Regulations of Aldridge Student Apartments" typed in bold at the top of the first page.

"No parties, alcohol, weapons, or any illegal substances are allowed inside this building. Curfew for Freshmen is at 1 am sharp, no exceptions, and that includes having guests. No one is to spend the night without permission from the residence warden of the building in which you are staying, but I can tell you right now you may as well not even bother. I always say no."

Christine blinked at him in surprise as he continued to glare at her with his sharp eyes. _Does this guy think he's some kind of dictator?_ she wondered.

"I lock the doors every night at 1, so unless you want to get locked out and risked getting in trouble with security, I suggest you not be late. Break any of the rules, and I won't hesitant to kick you out on the street." His gaze hardened before he continued, "Do I may myself clear?"

Her voice failed her, so she settled on nodding.

Tossing her a key from his pocket, he said, "Sign the agreement and get out."

She'd never been more willing to comply.

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Author's Note:

First chapter of what is sure to be a fairly long story... I apologize if it seemed a little slow; I promise it will pick up soon. . Just have to set up the story and get all the background details set up, you know? I actually have quite a bit of this written, but I tend to jump around alot so I don't forget scenes. I need to tie it all together and tweak it a bit. 2nd chapter should be up soon.

I'll try to answer some questions you might be wondering:

1) Why a music school instead of an opera house?

Just trying to keep it modern. Music oriented people her age typically attend school before pursuing a career in classical music. At least, the people I know do. Even a prodigy needs instruction.

2) Of all the things she could be studying, why choose piano?

I know it would make more sense for her to stick with the traditional POTO singing, or even take up violin like her father, but the instrument I know the most about is Piano. Haha, what can I say; I'm obsessed with the piano. I can't help if my passion leaks into the story a bit. Don't worry though, her singing abilities are not going to be completely absent.

3) Is Brewer an oc?

Yes, Mr. Brewer is not from the original story or the movie. He's not supposed to represent any of the original characters.

4) Is this fiction based on the book, musical, Kay novel, or one of the movies?

A mixture of everything, I suppose. I love all things Phantom. Haha

Alright, I'll stop talking now. Thanks for reading~


	2. Act II The Phantom

**ACT II- The Phantom**

To say her first few days at school were interesting would be an understatement. The first day was easy enough; music theory mostly consisted of the usual introductions and review of class procedures, and her first voice lesson wasn't much different. The same couldn't be said of the second day, which happened to be the one she was looking forward to the most.

Professor Delauney, who was to be her piano instructor, was the most celebrated teacher at Aldridge. Her mastery of the piano was positively legendary. As such, she handpicked her students carefully, and refused to accept more than three pupils at a time. Christine was one of the lucky ones to benefit from her instruction. She was majoring in piano, so it would take up most of her school hours.

When Christine entered the classroom she was to be taking her lessons in on Tuesday at 9 am sharp, she was surprised to find herself in a relatively large room with scuffed hardwood floors and wall-sized mirrors lining almost every wall. Silk curtains heavy with dust and age hung from the windows, tied to the side to allow the early morning sun in. The lights were turned off, the room lit up by the light streaming in through the windows. She figured it was at one point one of the school's dance studios before the big renovation, and was now used as a classroom. Two pianos were set up by the windows across from the door, and Christine saw Professor Delauney perched on one of the piano benches. She rose as Christine approached.

She was a tall, thin woman in her forties. Her hair was pulled back from her smooth, ageless face with a simple clip and her lips were turned up in a small smile as she surveyed her new pupil.

Extending her hand, Christine managed a, "Nice to meet you, my name is Chr-" before being shocked into silence as, instead of returning the handshake, Delauney took her by the wrist and proceeded to inspect her hand.

"Not really the hands of a pianist; a bit on the small side..." She was saying, turning her hand this way and that. "Nice and flexible, though."

It was a bit eccentric of her, but such is an artist's temperament, Christine figured. She tried her very hardest to keep a strait face through this, and barely managed to succeed.

"I apologize, you may have your hand back." Delauney said before gesturing towards the pianos. "Choose one and play something."

"What would you like me to play?" Christine inquired nervously. She was terrified of being a disappointment. Though it may be hard to believe while looking at her, Professor Delauney had a reputation for being a hardass, especially on her new pupils. She only accepted the best, and anyone who failed in her eyes were dropped from her instruction immediately.

"Whatever comes to mind."

"...Okay." Christine made her way to the closest piano and, willing her hands to stop shaking, positioned them above the white and black keys. "I guess I'll play Schubert, then."

"Straiten your back!" Delauney barked before Christine could so much as hit the first notes. "You can't very well play all hunched over like that."

Christine obliged, and forcing her nervousness from her mind, began to play. Her piece of choice was Schubert's Piano Sonata in A Minor, Op. 42. It wasn't the most challenging of pieces, but the dynamics were tricky and the various changes throughout made it difficult to play it correctly. She received enough compliments on her performance of it in the past to play it with confidence. Confidence which she needed at that moment but found herself losing with every criticism thrown at her by her instructor. Christine found that all it took was messing up once before her nerves caused her to waver, resulting in even more mistakes.

"You aren't playing loudly enough there, restart it from that measure." Delauney was saying. "One too many notes at that part. Stop adding notes, because changing the composition would never be allowed in a competition. Now you are playing too softly again."

She had barely made it to the end of the first movement when she was ordered to stop. There was a brief silence, broken only by the soft humming of the ceiling fan. Delauney sighed in barely masked disappointment and began to rummage through a filing cabinet.

"Generally when a new student of mine gives such a performance, I send them home." she said, flipping through and marking what seemed to be a book of sheet music. Christine's stomach flipped at this, and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She willed herself not to cry. "The notes were almost completely right, and you seem to have an excellent memory... but your performance was sloppy and flat, and you lack passion while playing. You don't seem to handle criticism well either."

Christine took all of this in, and nodded. She always thought she did well at the piano, and was very gifted at playing by ear. She could play almost anything she hears with just a few tries, and while she struggled to follow a score, she knew she had improved greatly in that department since she first began. She began to question all the kind words and indulgent smiles of people who continually praised her over the years.

"You're better than this, Miss Daae." Delauney eventually said. "I know, because I listened to your application disc. You have talent, but you can't let your nerves affect your performance like that. You need to master your emotions and learn to play under pressure and channel those emotions in such a way as to convey the mood of the piece."

"I'm so sorry, Professor-"

"I don't want an apology." she replied with a smile. "Only improvement. I'm going to cut today's lesson short, and cancel your lessons with me until Friday. I marked all your mistakes. Work on it, and prove to me that you deserve to be here." She held out the now marked up Schubert score, and Christine accepted it with a nod. "Don't disappoint me, darling. See you Friday."

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That night was the first time she heard it.

Not wanting to disturb Meg and knowing said girl had homework of her own, Christine decided to return to the classroom that night with the intent of practicing. It was half past ten, well after school hours, so she expected to be the only one left in the music building.

She was quite surprised upon entering the unlocked side doors to hear a beautiful, haunting piano melody echoing through the hallway. The slow, mournful tune drew her in, intriguing her. She didn't recognize it, and couldn't immediately figure out where it was coming from.

Christine wandered the halls for a while, determined to find its originator, and was close to giving up when she realized it was coming from the very room she originally intended to use. No sooner had she peered into the little window on the door, however, then the music abruptly stopped. Blinking in surprise, she opened the door in haste and flicked on the light switch, flooding the previously pitch black room with light.

It was empty.

"That's strange..." she mused aloud. Perhaps she had the wrong room? No, she was positive the music was coming from there. A shiver ran down her spine and she slowly backed away from the room as the possibility of ghosts hit her. The school was over ninety years old, and a the theatre on campus predated even that. Ghosts were certainly a possibility, though she never believed in that sort of thing.

Decided she wasn't going to start believing now, she reasoned the music easily could have been coming from the room upstairs. She figured she was just being silly and wasting what little time she had to practice. All the same, her neck prickled as if someone's eyes were on her, watching her every move as she eased the door shut behind her and timidly approached the two pianos.

She gave the room one last sweeping look and, once satisfied she was completely alone, began to play. She studied the sheet music intently, trying her hardest to remember all the subtle changes in dynamics of the piece.

A couple hours later, she all but jumped when she glanced at her watched and read 12:45. She had less than fifteen minutes to get back to the dorm or suffer Mr. Brewer's wrath. Gathering her stuff together, she raced for the door and, glancing around one last time, cast the room into darkness with the flip of a switch.

The next few days passed in much the same way. She would arrive late at night after her classes and workshift were over, and she would hear that beautiful echoing piano music every time. It became a mission for her, trying to catch the musician behind it. Try as she might, however, it would always fade into silence by the time she made it to the piano room. The tune was always beautiful but melancholy, and Christine's breath would often catch in her throat at the sheer despair of it.

Even as she herself sat at the piano, trying to focus on improving her Schubert, her mind was on the mysterious music from before. It was all she could think about, and she often found herself gradually slipping away from the score and playing the very melody that plagued her mind.

Through all of this, Christine couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her, but there was never any other indication of someone being in the room.

Late Thursday night as she prepared to go home for the night, grumbling to herself about the night being unproductive, she could have sworn she heard a whisper that sounded unnervingly like her name. Suspicious green eyes scanned the room, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Dismissing it as nothing more than exhaustion, she reached for her music sheets and froze in alarm.

There, resting daintily on the ivory keys of the piano, was a single red rose. Lifting it with quivering hands, she noticed that a black ribbon had been tied carefully around it in a meticulous bow. She knew for a fact the rose hadn't been there minutes before.

No one was in the room.

Dropping the ominous flower in fright, she promptly gathered her belongings and dashed out the door, resolving never to enter the room after hours again.

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"Are you okay, Christine?" Meg asked the next night, making Christine nearly drop her tea in alarm.

They were both curled up on the couch, half-watching the obscenely colorful game show on tv. It was a silly occupation of her time, but the colors were bright enough and the smiles were contagious enough to help drive the darkness of the previous week from Christine's mind. She focused on the big smiles and uncertain faces of the contestants, all to avoid the demanding and concerned stare of her couch-companion.

"I'm fine..." She said. "Just a long day."

"Did that test thing go okay with your professor?"

"As well as can be expected, I guess." Christine said with a sigh. "She said my overall technique has improved, but that it still lacks passion, whatever that means. She's willing to keep me on as a student, at least..."

Meg moved to place a reassuring hand on Christine's shoulder, causing her to jump in alarm. The blonde frowned. "You've been acting strange today, like you've seen a ghost. Have a run-in with 'The Phantom' or something?" Meg joked.

Christine rose an eyebrow. "The- what?"

Meg laughed. "Just some silly ghost story my mom told me about that's been circulating the school the past several years. Apparently there's been some strange happenings around the campus, such as things going missing, instruments being played and singing heard from seemingly empty rooms, and a masked man appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. The students call him 'The Phantom', and everytime something goes wrong or someone dies in the area, he's gets the blame. Silly, really."

Christine pondered this, considering everthing from the ominous piano music echoing through the halls of the music building to the sudden appearance of the rose on the piano. _No way..._

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Author's note:

End of Chapter two~ Hope you liked. Bet you can't guess who makes an appearance next~ I'll include links to the music used at the end of every chapter for those who are curious.

**Music from the chapter**

Schubert Piano Sonata in A minor, OP. 42: youtube(dot)com/watch?v=b-1j7QxZ6Fc&feature=related (This lady played it really well)

**TEASER FOR CHAPTER 3**

"Are you insane?" She inquired incredulously. She tried to sound upset, but her voice was tainted with amusement.

"No," he replied, smiling sweetly. "I'm just cold... and tired. I've been walking around all day."

"Completely insane," Christine mumbled to herself, staring down at the fiend on her lap. "Alright, alright... could you please just... feel me up through my clothes instead? You're freezing!"


End file.
